


Love and a Stolen Television

by becauseitwasreal



Category: Inspector Lynley Mysteries (TV)
Genre: (about time tbh), F/M, in which a certain detective finds out he is an idiot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-05-18 02:11:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5894113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/becauseitwasreal/pseuds/becauseitwasreal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I never said you were an idiot,” she grinned lightly. “I said you’re an arrogant prick.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love and a Stolen Television

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own these lovely characters. If only.

“You think you’re such a saint, don’t you?” she hissed at the man next to her in the car.   
He raised his eyebrows. “What makes you say that?”   
She looked at him. _Seriously? Why did this man need everything to be spelled out for him?_ “You act like a hypocrite.”  
His knitted brow deepened. “How exactly do I act like a hypocrite? I told him what I thought, nothing more.”   
She sneered. “Of course you did. You always do.”  
“Why are you angry with me? The boy was toying with that girl’s feelings – you know it. He was using her, and I told him what I thought about that.”   
She sighed and hoped she wasn’t blushing as her boss set his jaw. “He may have been an important suspect, and we just lost him, because you _told him what you thought_ , do you realise that?”   
“Do I have to remind you who’s in charge?” he answered her rhetorical question with another, making her shake her head lightly. She turned to the window, and watched his reflection as he drove on. It was a small path through the woods. A murder had been committed in a large estate, and of course it was their luck that those people appeared to have an entire rain forest as their personal garden. It was raining, and every now and then a branch would fall down. She could only hope it wouldn’t hit the Bentley. The man next to her was already in a mood, and one does not simply touch his Bentley without severe consequences. The fact that he wouldn’t be able to do more than curse the wind and the rain and the trees if it happened, wouldn’t do any good for her either.   
“I was right, though, wasn’t I?” he spoke, suddenly. She broke her eyes from the reflection of him, merely to be face by his eyes full of concern. “I did – I wasn’t wrong, was I? She loves him, and he obviously doesn’t love her. He hardly appears to see her, yet he allows her to play the part of his lackey. She runs around for him, she makes his tea, she does anything to please him… I don’t even know what she’s thinking. She’s the daughter of the laundress, and he – he’s well on his way to become a lord. She must realise that… She must, right?”   
Barbara smiled. “She must… I bet she realises that she doesn’t have any chance just as well as you and I do.”  
“Then why doesn’t she give up? Why doesn’t she leave him rot in his own prestigious shit, if he feels too good for her?”   
Barbara raised her eyebrow. “You just mentioned it, didn’t you? She _loves_ him, and even if he doesn’t love her back the way she does, they are friends. She cares about him, and I’m sure he cares about her –” She gave him a stern look when he opened his mouth to interrupt her. “– in some ways.”   
“He is using her,” he stubbornly insisted.   
“Perhaps,” she said, looking down. “But perhaps he doesn’t realise it.”   
His dark brown eyes looked at her questioningly. “He’d be an idiot not to realise that. It’s obvious – you have to look at her for a spare second and you see she’s in love.”   
“Perhaps she hides it around him – and besides, he is a man. They can be more oblivious than you may realise.”  
Now it was his turn to roll his eyes.  
“Sir, you said it yourself. He doesn’t even _see_ her, how is he supposed to see her love then?”   
Detective Chief Inspector Lynley focused his eyes on his sergeant. “He’s supposed to notice that. You notice when you break into a house and steal a television. You’re supposed to notice when you steal a heart.”   
Barbara laughed. “You’re the only one I know who would compare love to a crime.”  
“Only if the love isn’t returned.”   
Her smile faded. She knew what he was thinking about now. His marriage had collapsed years ago, but she didn’t think he’d ever gotten past it. She had left him. Barbara knew somewhere that it must be his own fault too, she knew how insufferable he could be, and yet… She blamed Helen for it. For hurting him. She blamed her for dying, too. She was a thief, and she had gotten away. For good.    
Barbara focused on the window once again. His gaze was fixed on the road before them, but she saw his eyes drawing away to her. The pensive look troubled her. Just as she was about to speak, about to ask, she was flung forward in her seat and hit the front window. The car has stopped abruptly, and her boss was cursing next to her. “Are you okay?” he asked.  
She nodded. “We’re stuck,” she said. What rich people don’t asphalt their bloody driveway anyway?   
“Thanks for the observation,” Lynley said sarcastically. “I haven’t noticed.” He got out of the car and inspected the mud which had caught around the tyres. Another string of curse-words came out of his mouth. She joined him in his attempts to push, but it was to no avail. In the end, they called the station.   
  
“I have two peppermints and a bottle of water. Oh, and three cigarettes. Do you still have anything?”   
He didn’t answer, but merely stared ahead of him. There was nothing to see. The window was clouded by rain and mist, and he didn’t bother to clean it anymore. He had been lamenting the fact that his precious car had broken down, and how much the tow truck would damage it, and when he had finally figured out that she didn’t particularly care, he had resolved himself to silence.   
“I’m sorry about the car,” Barbara said, merely to fill the uneasy air between them. “No, you’re not.”   
“All right, I’m not, what you want.”   
She looked at him. He leaned back into his chair, sighing.   
“Who d’you reckon did it?”   
“Did _what_?” he asked, irritation dripping from his voice.  
“The murder, _sir_. Do you have any suspects?”  
“Oh.” He sighed again. He did that a lot. Always wallowing in self-pity. And all that over a car! He looked at her. She noticed how he’d missed a part with shaving, and the small crack in his upper lip. She noticed how he was getting older. His dark hair was visibly greying, and she silently wondered whether he would dye it. He was vain enough. “Maybe the butler did it,” he said.  
She laughed, and caught a small smile around his lips as well. “If only it were so easy.”   
“I don’t know. Sometimes it is.”   
“It hardly ever is with us.” She looked at him just a little too long.   
“True, true,” he acknowledged.   
They were silent again. Her window was misted too now, and she couldn’t see his reflection anymore. “I need a fag,” she finally said, and she stepped out of the car. Her head was still spinning a bit from her recent encounter with the window, and cigarettes always helped. She leaned against the car, inhaling the smoke, as she saw him in the corner of her eye.   
“It’s raining,” he said.   
“I’m aware,” she said dryly.   
“You’re not even wearing a coat.”   
She shrugged. “I don’t have one with me.”   
“Take mine.”   
She raised her eyebrows. He took that as a ‘yes,’ apparently, and draped his own coat over her shoulders. The rain was now dripping on him, through his shirt. “What are you doing?” she asked, looking straight into his eyes. She expected to see the well-known innocent confusion, but for once he broke her expectations.   
“I’m not an idiot, am I?”  
She shrugged, not sure what kind of answer he was expecting. “Well, to be fair, sir, you do have your moments.”   
“But in general, do you think I’m an idiot?”   
“You can be an arrogant prick at the best of times, but you’re not an idiot.” She couldn’t read him, and that scared her more than anything. “Why do you ask?”   
He laughed. It was strange and hollow. “Because I am. I am an idiot, and you know it. Now I know it too. About time, you must think.”   
“Sir, I –”   
He shook his head. “Perhaps we are both idiots,” he decided. “I think we are.” He smiled.   
“I don’t –“  
His lips were on hers before she could finish her sentence. For the first time, she could feel where his lip had cracked, and she for the first time, she felt whole. Barbara felt the blood flow to her head. She felt warm, and it wasn’t just his jacket. She was blushing as his lips left her cold.   
“You were right, sergeant,” he said.   
She raised her eyebrows, unable to speak.   
“I am a hypocrite. And I am an idiot.”   
“I never said you were an idiot,” she grinned lightly. “I said you’re an arrogant prick.”   
“Also completely true,” he said jovially. His shirt was now soaked, and his hair was dripping raindrops on his face, but it didn’t matter. None of that mattered when he kissed her again.   
He smiled when he let go of her. He was beautiful when he smiled. He was always beautiful, but when he smiled something in him seemed to blossom. Something she didn’t get to see a lot. Overcome with emotion, Barbara wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his chest. She cried, and her tears mangled with the rain. She felt his heartbeat as his hand was stroking her hair, and felt so peculiarly alive.   
“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I should have remembered to give you my television in return.” 


End file.
